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Commence Prayer

Commence Prayer

The following account actually happened:

It was in 1968 on an airplane headed for New York, a routine flight and normally very boring. But this one proved to be otherwise.

Descending to the destination, the pilot realized the landing gear refused to engage. He messed around with the controls, trying again and again to make it happen … no success. He then asked ground control for instruction as he circled the landing field. The runway was coated with foam as fire trucks and other emergency vehicles moved into position.

Meanwhile, the passengers were told of each maneuver in that calm, cheery voice pilots do so well. Flight attendants glided about the cabin with an air of cool reserve. Passengers were told to place their heads between their knees and grab their ankles just before impact. It was one of those I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-me experiences. There were tears, no doubt, and a few screams of despair. The landing was only minutes away.

Suddenly, the pilot announced over the intercom:

We are beginning our final descent. At this moment, in accordance with International Aviation Codes established in Geneva, it is my obligation to inform you that if you believe in God you should commence prayer.

I’m happy to report that the belly landing occurred without a hitch. No one was injured and, aside from some rather extensive damage to the plane, the airline hardly remembered the incident. In fact, a relative of one of the passengers called the airline the very next day and asked about that prayer rule the pilot had quoted. No one volunteered any information on the subject. With that cool reserve, the airline’s reply was simply, “No comment.”

Amazing! The only thing that brought out into the open a deep-down “secret rule” was crisis. Pushed to the brink, back to the wall, right up to the wire, all escape routes closed … only then does our society crack open a hint of recognition that God may be there and that, “if you believe … you should commence prayer.”

Reminds me of a dialogue I watched on television. The guy being interviewed had “come back alive” from the Mount St. Helens eruption with pictures and a sound track of his own personal nightmare. Being a reporter, he was near the mouth of that mama when she blew her top, and he literally ran for his life with camera rolling and the microphone on. The pictures were, of course, blurred and mostly unclear and dark, but his voice was something else. Periodically, he’d click on his gear.

He admitted after all this was played on the talk show that he only vaguely recalled saying many of those things. It was eerie, almost too personal to be disclosed. He breathed deeply, sobbed several times, panted, and spoke directly to God. No formality, no clichés — just the despairing cry of a creature in crisis. Things like, “Oh, God, oh, my God … help! Help! … Oh, Lord God, get me through. God, I need you, please help me; I don’t know where I am.“ More sobbing, more rapid breathing, spitting, gagging, coughing, and panting. “It’s so hot, so dark, help me, God! Please, please, please, please …”

There’s nothing to compare with crisis when it comes to finding out the otherwise hidden truth of the soul. Any soul. We may mask it, ignore it, pass it off with cool sophistication and intellectual denial … but take away the cushion of comfort, remove the shield of safety, interject the threat of death without the presence of people to take the panic out of the moment, and it’s fairly certain most in the ranks of humanity “commence prayer.”

David certainly did. When in “the pit of destruction … the miry clay,” he testified that Jehovah heard his cry (Psalm 40:2). So did Paul and Silas in that ancient Philippian prison when all seemed hopeless (Acts 16:25–26). It was from “the deep” Jonah cried for help. Choking on salt water and engulfed by the Mediterranean currents, the prodigal prophet called out his distress (Jonah 2:1–4). Old King Nebuchadnezzar did too, fresh off a siege of insanity when he had lost his reason and lived like a wild beast in the open field. That former mental patient “raised [his] eyes toward heaven,” and poured out the feelings of his soul to the Lord God, the very One the king had denied in earlier years (Daniel 4:29–37).

Crisis crushes. And in crushing, it often refines and purifies. I’ve stood beside too many of the dying, ministered to too many of the victims of calamity, and listened to too many of the broken and bruised to believe otherwise. Unfortunately, it usually takes the brutal blows of affliction to soften and penetrate hard hearts — even though such blows are often unfair.

Remember Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s admission?

It was only when I lay there on rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the first stirrings of good … So bless you, prison, for having been in my life.

Those words provide a perfect illustration of the psalmist’s instruction:

 

Before I was afflicted I went astray,
but now I obey your word…
…It was good for me to be afflicted
so that I might learn your decrees.

(Psalm 119:67, 71 NIV)


After crisis crushes, God steps in to comfort and to teach.

This actually happens every day.

 

 

 

 


About the Author:  Chuck Swindoll



Chuck Swindoll